I have nothing better to do
when it rains so I go to the pier
on vacation with my pole and chicken necks
and rusted traps, drive down
to where the kayaks wait
in the mud, stop to smell
where fresh fish float through
brackish waters and tie a knot
at the end of my string, attach a bob
and minnow and cast
out towards the bay spotting
dead skates and hope
for mackerel and striper,
how my father taught me be gentle
I tie the necks to string and let the meat sink
below the surface and wait to be caught
up with delicious bloody poultry
to feed on and get trapped behind
the jailed walls. I hope the blue
crab knows I had to drive over
the county line in my shoddy white
pickup to the quiet co-op
when she bites into the chicken
for our dinner.